


Let it rain.

by cattrap



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattrap/pseuds/cattrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When eet used to rain in Russia, my mamma would bundle us both up on zee arm chair an’ reed Russian fairytales."</p><p>Homesick, Pavel misses nothing more than seeing rain fall.<br/>Leonard makes it rain for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself more than you hate me. (◕‿◕✿)  
> There is a pre-basis of friendship/romantic interest ok.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlyJack Holla at my twin for giving me a few prompts and being my McChekov bud, yo'.

Pavel’s favourite room within the Enterprise was a rec-room on the highest deck. The ceiling was glass and opened up to the expansive, endless being above, in front and all around them.

Space was marvelous – there was no other term. The expanding stars, the colorful galaxies and Chekov had pride of place as navigator being able to view it day after day, even though he did have a job to carry out. It was amazing yes… but it wasn’t home.

He missed the snow. He missed the gray slush on the roads. Grey overcast. Sunny weather… but most of all, he missed the rain. Either the gentle pitter patter or the lashing upon the windows – he missed all of it. Pavel missed rain the most because it reminded him of a better time; time he spent with his mamma back in Russia before the academy, before her death.

 The Russian jumped as a second body sat beside him on the bench. He snapped out of his trance and an uneasy, fake smile covered his pale lips. Chekov cleared his throat and looked down. Even his body language read uneasy – hey, he was a little homesick. He was sitting, slouched ever so slightly with his hands below his thighs.

 “Good afternoon, doctor.”

Leonard McCoy settled beside the teenager, a raggedy old, small, leather bound book in his hands. Tradition American poetry – definitely his favourite for an afternoon off. Although in space, afternoon was a bit of a stupid term when the sky did very little else other than twinkle.

 “Good afternoon, my ass,” the doctor muttered lowly, placing his right foot on his left knee, “Only just escaped from Jim, so it’s a fantastic afternoon,” he cocked an eyebrow and turned his gaze to the Russian, before a smug smile broke out on his lips. Chekov laughed, “Vell done, sir. Will the keptin not find you here?”

 “N’ah. If Jim leaves the bridge for more than two minutes, the pointy eared bastard’s ridin’ his ass. He won’t find me,” a good old, genuine grin broke out on the doctor’s face, cheering Chekov up immensely. He loved hearing Leonard’s stories.

Over the past few weeks of the mission, Pavel had shadowed under many members of the Enterprise. As second in command Science officer, he had spent time working under Spock’s careful eyes. He had shadowed under Scotty in engineering. Both the Vulcan and the Scotsman had been pleased to have such an intelligent kid working with them – he caught on quickly and he was an essential part of the team in so many ways than one.

 Chekov had enjoyed shadowing under no one more than Leonard McCoy. Bones had been wary at first – he was a busy man, god damn it and didn’t need some seventeen year old whizz kid thinking he was God’s gift to the Enterprise. But the experience had been pleasant – for the both of them, and Chekov had learned much more than just medical terms, hypos and surgeries.

 Over the weeks, Bones had been educating Chekov in a few, old-fashioned American past times. He told Chekov stories, of camping under the stars (which Chekov had greeted with shivers at the mere idea of camping in Russia), he had given the Russian American literature (which Chekov had thoroughly enjoyed, although he had struggled with the colloquialisms) and even let the seventeen year old have a drink of whiskey (which Bones had been careful to say, “if you so much as breathe near Spock, I’ll put you down faster than an injured stallion.”)

 They had grown close to say the least and now as they both sat in the deserted rec-room, there was an ease – although Chekov had not yet shuck off the formalities. He should have grabbed that opportunity with both hands – how many people did Leonard legitimately like enough to even let them breathe the word “Leonard”?

 “Vhat are you reading now? I did not see zat book before in your collection,” he asked, peering over at the raggedy old book.

 “Keep it in the bedside table… It’s the last thing my father gave me. It was his favourite,” he offered the male a weak smile, “I was goin’ to let you read after I had a final read through.”

 “Really? Thank you, doc – Leonard,” he corrected himself, seeing no use for formalities at this time. Chekov felt like he was back in Leonard’s office, having a drink and listening to Leonard’s stories again. It was calming. It was safe.

 “What’re you doing up here, kid, anyways? Do you not see enough of this disease ridden, expansive case of nothing-ness when you’re sittin’ at your desk?”

 “Thee world iz quiet here. I like to imagine zhe rain,” a solemn expression crossed the boy’s face, his gaze dropping from the glass ceiling, to his shoes.

 “Homesick?” the doctor offered, ideally flicking through the tattered old notebook… He was sure he had seen something in here about rain. The boy nodded, “I’m afraid there’s no hypo for that. About the only damned thing that hasn’t been invented.”

 “When eet used to rain in Russia, my mamma would bundle us both up on zee arm chair an’ reed Russian fairytales,” Chekov’s lips shook as he finished his sentence.

“She was a smart woman,” McCoy offered, not wanting to upset the kid. His fatherly instincts went ballistic around Chekov. Seventeen years old, aboard the Enterprise, no parents? He had plenty of friends aboard the ship, but sometimes Chekov didn’t someone a little stronger than that, “Sure as hell an angel for raisin’ you,” Bones ruffled the boy’s hair, earning a stronger smile.

 McCoy found the poem after a minute or so, placing his other foot back on the ground, “You’ll like this, kid,” as much as Chekov detested being called “kid” by anyone else on board – coming from McCoy it was sort of endearing.

 

“Toward evening, as the light failed

and the pear tree at my window darkened,

I put down my book and stood at the open door,

the first raindrops gusting in the eaves,

a smell of wet clay in the wind.”

 

As Pavel breathed in, he could smell it; the rain, the petrichor as it hit the dry earth of the garden.

From their small house, in their small living room – Pavel would sit, bundled on the woman’s lap with a cup of hot cocoa in his hands, his mother’s favourite blues music playing in the background and the heavy, leather bound book sitting in her lap.

 He shuffled towards the doctor, wishing to hear more. He slowly lowered his head to Bones’ shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief as he did not jolt or stop reading.

 

Sixty years ago, lying beside my father,

half asleep, on a bed of pine boughs as rain

drummed against our tent, I heard

for the first time a loon’s sudden wail

drifting across that remote lake—

a loneliness like no other,

though what I heard as inconsolable

may have been only the sound of something

untamed and nameless

singing itself to the wilderness around it

and to us until we slept.

 

Pavel’s eyes fell closed. The doctor’s gentle breathing and words were hypnotic. He didn’t want the poem to end.

 

"And thinking of my father

and of good companions gone

into oblivion, I heard the steady sound of rain

and the soft lapping of water, and did not know

whether it was grief or joy or something other

that surged against my heart

and held me listening there so long and late."

 

“I hope eet was joy he found,” Chekov murmured, “Meemories are better than nothing.”

“You’re too wise beyond your years sometimes, kid,” Bones muttered back, flicking gently through the remainder of the pages, the boy still tucked tightly into his side.

 They remained like that for ten minutes, Bones reading a few words here and there in his book, whilst Chekov dozed in and out of consciousness.

 

And then it suddenly struck the good doctor.

 

“C’mon,” he nudged Pavel gently, waking the boy up fully as he slid the small book into his pocket, “let’s go get ourselves into trouble.” 

* * *

 

“I thought Ensigns were not allowed within the holodeck,” Chekov questioned, gazing up at McCoy.

“They are when they’re with me and I don’t give a fuck about what Jim Kirk wants,” Bones cocked an eyebrow at the young ensign, an almost playful hint in the doctor’s eyes.

 Anyone below McCoy in rank had practically been barred from the holodeck, after the unfortunate incident involving a malfunction, which let a stampede of horses, a group of psychotic vampires and a puppy the size of a donkey loose on the Enterprise. The clean up had been spectacularly funny – especially since McCoy hadn’t ended up with any causalities.

 The doors of the holodeck swished open, allowing the two in.

 McCoy stepped over to the monitor, checking the systems for the correct program. Bad weather simulations had been programmed for the officers to train and test new weapons during periods of time when their abilities may be impaired – but this would give Pavel a little extra enjoyment.

 "Computer, run program B dash W one,” Bones put his hands behind his back. And it began lashing from the ceiling, which was now… the sky.

 Pavel’s eyes shot to above them. It really was. The sky was dark and cloudy. They were in a street now, lined with a few streetlights but the key element here was the rain. It was pouring, to say the least. He let out a squeal of delight and kicked his boot straight through the nearest puddle.

McCoy took shelter beneath a tree, planted on the side of the street – watching the young ensign through himself through the pelting rain. He was soaked right through in less than twenty seconds, but it didn’t stop him. He kicked straight through a puddle in McCoy’s direction, who surprisingly did nothing more than laugh and take a further step back.

Bones had removed the security measure of the holodeck, meaning the kid rain was going to soak the kid through for real – but hey, it’s what he wanted. Now the doctor was more concerned with Chekov ending up with a chill.

 Bones ended the program when Chekov ended up bent over, the soaking skin of his hands gripping his drenched trousers. Bones had managed to stay remotely stay, only a few flecks of rain darkening his shirt.

 The Russian’s normally honey coloured curls had darkened. His hair was lying flat from the water and the rain that was still coming off of him was enough to fill a sink. He turned his head and let out another shout of laughter, forcing himself back to a standing position. He had a Christmas time grin stitched onto his face.

 “I’m wery soaked but wery happy, Leo,” Pavel shook his arms out at his sides and then his hair, splashing more water on the doctor as he strode passed to open the doors.

 “You’re also very likely going to catch a chill,” McCoy led the boy down the hallway, surprisingly with very few odd stares. The kid was shivering, but beaming with delight with pep in his step. It was refreshing, just as the rain had been on Chekov’s skin. McCoy found himself smiling once again – this was at least the third time in one day; someone needed to tell Jim and make sure McCoy was actually in his right mind.

 Hey, he was a doctor – it was in his job description to make people happy. (Although Kirk and Spock may question what Bones ACTUALLY considered happy to be.)

 When they arrived in Chekov’s unbelievably small quarters (seriously, ensigns were important, why did the ship not bother to make bigger quarters), McCoy through a towel over the boy’s head as he kicked his shoes off. Bones dried his hair off, still listening to the babbling the Russian had yet to cease.

 “My fawourite story was called “Golden hair,” that’s what my mamma called me,” he spoke from beneath the gentle ruffling of the towel. When McCoy pulled the towel off of him, he began drying down his face. He smirked. The Ensign’s hair had already begun to turn into its usual ringlets. Bones liked that nickname for the kid.

 “Get yourself changed and I’ll treat us to a hot drink,” the doctor said, draping the towel around Pavel’s neck to allow him to dry the rest of himself off.

 Eh, the kid looked like a hot chocolate type.

The small layout of the quarters meant he only had to take about fifteen steps to the kitchen section. He made the drinks as Pavel shed his soaking clothes in the bathroom, pulling on the Starfleet regulation sleeping wear, which had the insignia once the chest and once on the trousers of the black outfit.

Bones was just dropping a spoonful of ice cream into the hot drinks as Pavel propped himself down on the loveseat at the bottom of his bed, facing the large window that took up a large proportion of the opposite wall.

 “You sure do have a thing for windows, Pav,” Bones noted, more to himself, as he handed the young ensign his drink.

 “I also have a theng for people reading poetry to me, da,” the boy chimed, a slight cock in his eyebrow fully showing his intent to keep the doctor around for a few more hours.

 Bones’ shift was due to start in another twenty minutes. Ahh, Christine could hold the fort down for another little bit. With Chekov nursing his drink in his cold hands and staring intently at McCoy, Bones placed his on the floor and slid the book back out of his pocket – finding another poem just to fit the theme of today.

 

“If I ever get over the bodies of women, I am going to think of the rain,

of waiting under the eaves of an old house

at that moment

when it takes a form like fog.

It makes the mountain vanish.

Then the smell of rain, which is the smell of the earth a plow turns up,

only condensed and refined…”

 

Chekov wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but when he awoke, he was tucked up in bed, with that old, raggedy book clutched to his chest and a smile upon his face.


End file.
